Cataystrophe

Relationships, poetry, Arkansas, the environment, life through experiment

Creativity: If You Have A Pulse, You Have It.

When Sam left for California we sipped wine from the same box we drank when Kelly left for Colorado.

Tomorrow Anna and Joel come home from New Mexico.

Kelly followed invitations for graduate school interviews while Stephanie roamed for mountains to climb and stretches of sky to slack-line. Anna and Joel been makin’ music.

It’s mid-March and I’m at home proud to say I haven’t shaved my legs this year. I don’t think that shaving my legs makes me oppressed by society, but I do think that if I shave my leg hairs I will miss them when they’re gone. After all, I watched them blossom.

I also write down what’s happening in my life and what’s on my mind. We all have different types of creativity.

Just like having a body mind or soul, being creative is something that makes us human. It’s a glitter invested biological trait that we all possess, and there are many different types. There are no limits in the creative game. Who’s to say how many types there are, or what qualifies as a type? I’m sure if you and I got together we would come up with an immaculate form of creativity that someone else might label deviant. To each her own is tough medicine to sallow. In Colorado, Kelly confessed that she envied our friends’ and even my own abilities to express ourselves creatively, as opposed to academically, like her. She rightfully knows she’s amazing, and wasn’t truly upset, but still I told her, no way girlfriend.

We seem to lust after the green grass on the other side. We want what we feel we don’t have. I don’t have a remedy for that, but creativity is a gift we are given, not a disease we need to fix in ourselves. I admire the landscaper, the chief, the single mom, the mathematician, for all they can do. While I’d say (needles to say) creativity can be a lover, it is not a significant other. You don’t have a “type.” Being creative is who you are, whoever you want to be on any given day. When you can see the bright sides of your own creative geniuses, instead of feeling intimidated by other wonders around you, why envy?

When I was in high school I was convinced that I wasn’t creative. All of my friends were artists, and people frequently asked me if I was one too. I said no. I thought because I couldn’t paint my poems into actual forms of visual art to properly hang on a wall, I wasn’t creative. Years after daydreaming in high school I realized I am just as creative, capable, and valid as anyone else.

To be you is an art. Nobody else could do it. It’s a skill to get your kids to school on time, or to keep yourself out of the gutter, or to wear a shirt that might be a little far out, perhaps even deviant. Clarissa makes jewelry, Benjamin grows vegetables, and I bring home boxes from work and use each side as a canvas to paint on. Maybe it’s just a way of laughing at the high school me, but I definitely hang my art on the walls.

Ya know how you make your own happiness? You can pick any outlet of creativity too. Feel the rhythm and see what makes you spin.

WITCH’S SPELL: SAY IT AND YOU BELIEVE IT

Many crayons in a box

Many stones in a stream

Many different types

Of creativity

-[OR]-

Box of crayons

Stream of Pebbles

Different types of creativity

On so many levels

Reflections~ Home and Back Again

“Would anybody like to try my chia latte with soy milk and lipstick around the hole?”

That’s how I ask my friends if they want to sip my Starbucks.

“Get a mug and share this pitcher with us.”…”I’m not drinking.”…”Why not??”…”Because I’m pregnant.”

That’s how my friend tells me she’s, you guessed it, pregnant.

Things are happening. I drove south this weekend to visit my family and old high school friends. My grandparents recently just moved into a retirement home. They have breakfast and lunch provided for them, field trips to go on if they so chose, and honestly, they’re very happy they decided to move in. In a similar time frame, doctors found a tumor in my uncle’s throat. He just finished chemotherapy and radiation, but is in the hospital after having not eaten in two weeks thanks to the pain in his throat making him gag and vomit whenever he tries to consume something. After receiving some much-needed nutrition, he’ll go home and get back to sharping his tennis skills. My family is in fight or flight mode, and friends everywhere are getting pregnant. Last month was my 24th birthday.

I feel like the sky is spinning, and the universe is throwing darts at stars just to see what will happen, and inevitably something will happen. As my good friend in AA would say, God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. One thing I can be sure of, is that things will in fact change, always. Instead of telling my soul mate that I will always love them, her, or him, I might say, this life is ever-changing, and I will always be here, whether I am or not. 

Why not control the dartboard of my own universe? After all, my grandpa did give me his old dartboard while they were downsizing for the move. Spring is breezing through the mountain today. Standing in my backyard I hug myself, caress my arms. My skin remembers what it feels like to be touched, warm, wanted. A small electricity blossoms at the tips of my fingers and I yearn for more, always.

I can already feel myself shaking off winter. I feel happy again. No matter what the weather looks like outside or what’s happening at any given moment, if it were the amazing people in my life I wouldn’t be able to keep my head afloat. My friends and family have always supported me, and I will always return this blessing. 

When you let the blessings flow they keep coming—my uncle was released from the hospital.

Walls

In hierarchy

Staircases scramble

Trip up

Move down

 

Me?

I go everywhere.

 

The walls don’t feel

Guilty

When they box you

In

 

Don’t feel

Devious

When you break

Free

 

My Dear,

Beyond the tidal waves

Of your sides

Above the hips where

Teeth marks lie

I find no greater

Purpose

 

Less stubborn than

An anchor

You deserve

An unsinkable ship

 

I

Disappear

Like a

Thought

 

Ever fleeting

With the

Clouds

 

Reflected

In

Ocean sky

Fill the World with Happiness

I want to go to there.

At this very moment, two of my best friends are traveling in California. The sunny state where my friends currently reside is possibly my favorite place on the seemingly small, but fiercely precious list of locations I have visited. Two weeks ago my friends threw a sporadic (appearing, as if out of air) potluck, where everyone gathered to say adios to the vagabonds. Anna and Joel have a jazz, folk, pop (pardon the genre drop) musical group called Handmade Moments. They’re playing shows, gaining new fans, making some gas money, and seeing all the greenery the Golden State relishes in this time of year. In the biz, they call it touring.

I’m happy for them. During the years I have known them Anna and Joel have always played music together, and on occasion have naturally been labeled boyfriend and girlfriend, though at the time the g-word title was technically mine. Besides being human, my two friends are the perfect team. When they go on the road they aren’t just hoping around barefoot from open door to open door (though there is a great deal of that). They’re doing business. Having a a career plan is important, if you’re into that sort of thing. And how could we forget, having a way to generate income is a nice security, some might say the only certain necessity in this world. Beyond the idea of money, perhaps it’s most meaningful to go to sleep at night knowing you are living your dreams and making the most of your sweet, fleeting time on this expressive Earth.

A year ago I graduated from the University of Central Arkansas. My degree is in creative writing and my passion has always been poetry. I hit the road after graduating, spent a couple weeks in California, came back to my southern home and landed in Fayetteville, Arkansas. An Aquarius, I turned 24 last month. It’s fair (I’m hoping) to say that I am swimming in Limbo’s pool of, “what am I suppose to do now?

I don’t think money is everything. More than the lack of value and moral integrity I find in money, I am moved by other things. Experiences, people, compassion for the planet. I do daydream of financial stability, but I want to do it on my own terms. I want to view success as simply being as stable as I see fit, without the glasses of green greed cutting off my vision. Doing what you love and being who you are is how to fill the world with happiness. Whether you’re in breezy Cali or sleet-storm Fayetteville, you still have what makes you you; you still have your soul. If you’re a drummer with no drum, you’re still a drummer, you just need a can and a stick. You always owe it to yourself to be yourself. If you’re a writer without a pen, find a tube of lipstick and a wall.

Happiness is whatever you make it to be, and the world can never get enough. Even if I never have a comfy, cozy corner office on the 16th floor with luxurious windows, there will always be other places to explore, and I will always be happy. The ironic contrary to popular belief  is that the grass isn’t always greener on the other side, and the view isn’t always better from the top. Great power can be found in embracing the moment and enjoying where you are, right now.

Anna and Joel are missing the end of a nasty winter here in Fayetteville, and I wish them the most adventurous of travels. And a bit of better luck, seeing as their car was broken into this morning.

Butterfly Beach

Introduction

Howdy traveler.

Pardon the assumption, but somehow you stumbled here and I call them like I see ’em. I too am beckoned by the road. Whether it be wheels propelled by pavement or surfing rainbow mazes through the mind, I am a life-long learner and advocate of constant growth. Maybe I should start by saying, I’m new on the blogging playground. Don’t let that scare you away, and I won’t allow myself the same luxury either.

I’ve always written, and dare I say, I have always been a writer. I remember, like you may too,specific things happening for the first time at certain points in my childhood. The first time I made a friend, the first time I realized my dad left home, the first poem I ever wrote, the first time I remember remembering anything. When I started having memories is essentially when my life started.

My motivation for this blog is to take a chance on myself and the World Wide Web, to voice my ever-expanding experience with whom I share this planet, both friends and strangers, to bring poetry to life, and to shine a positive light on the progressive side of Arkansas, coming right out of the beautiful Ozark Mountains.

Reflecting on personal encounters, I want to write about relationships of all colors and how they provide an outlook on life. I want to write about what interests me. Topics like the environment, environmental issues, female agenda in Arkansas, food, music, fashion, animals, sleeping with your friends, and nonconformity all ignite a strike in my interest. Whatever the topic, may it always relate back to a poetic nature.

What makes me happy is being unapologetically myself. Though I’ve tried, I’ve never enjoyed conforming. I’m fed by the thrill of making up my own words and rules, and I love seeing others express themselves without fear or second thought.

I want to get to know the world on a human level. It’s time to take a gamble with chance, poetry, and passion. Won’t you?